Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
“Isn’t optimistic the PC word for delusional?” What the hell was wrong with me? Did I want to bed this woman, or get kneed in the balls by her?
She laughed again, undeterred. “I like a guy who is quick-witted.”
“And I like to work for my sexual conquests. Care to at least pretend to make it hard for me?”
I could practically envision Hallie giving me her holy shitballs, you’re tragic face.
The bartender returned with both our drinks. I noticed the leggy blonde sniffing her black-on-white cocktail before taking a sip. I glanced around me, hoping to see suspicious people who might look like they’d followed me. This time, I wanted to be caught.
“Sorry to disappoint, but I think the milk is in its prime.” She shot me a sidelong smirk. “And for the record, so am I.”
I offered her a curt nod. It was becoming extremely difficult to repel her. Maybe I was better off just fucking her and telling Hallie. One of us needed to screw up to stop our oversight from happening again. And I could always count on myself to let people down.
“Are you always this forward?” I asked.
“Only when I want something real bad.”
Smirking, I said, “That can’t be a total stranger you just met at the bar. So why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”
“Damn. Maybe you’re as good as they say you are.” The woman pivoted on her stool, angling her entire body toward me. “Let’s cut to the chase.”
Glancing down to her impractical heels, I tsked. “If you want to continue being at a point of disadvantage.”
“I know who you are.” She placed her hand between us on the bar.
Was she working for Kozlov? Or was she FBI? She looked too refined for the former and too dumb for the latter.
“You do?” I took a sip of my drink. “Enlighten me, then.”
“You’re Ransom Lockwood of Lockwood and Whitfield Protection Group. A security company based in Chicago. You currently work with Hallie Thorne, daughter of President Anthony Thorne. And you’re an impossible man to hire, which makes me wonder if there’s an interesting backstory behind why you chose to protect the First Daughter.” She raised her glass in a toast, downing it in its entirety.
I motioned for the barkeep to get her a refill.
Expressionless, I turned back to her, not confirming nor denying her words. “Where are you going with this?”
“Where do you want me to go with it?” she purred.
Far the fuck away from me.
I just came here to get cornered by the Bratva, lady.
I shrugged. “You’re the one who’s here with an agenda and my unauthorized Wikipedia page.”
“What did you come here for?” She rested her chin on top of her knuckles.
“A quick fuck,” I was half-lying, half warming up to the idea.
I needed to get Hallie out of my system, out of my head, out of my life. This woman seemed like an unlikely candidate, now that she knew who I was. No matter. Plenty more fishnet stockings in the sea.
“What if you could get out of here with a satisfying fuck and five hundred thousand dollars richer?” She played with the edge of her blazer, exposing slivers of her skin. Of her boring, smooth, unmarked body.
Stop thinking about Hallie. She is not an option.
The bartender reappeared with the second White Russian for the woman, while I still nursed my first Jameson.
“I’d say you are full of bullshit,” I stated.
“Well, that’s because you’re a skeptic. But I’m about to change that.” She offered me her hand. “I’m Anna.”
I stood up, plucking out my wallet and throwing a wad of cash onto the bar. “And I’m out of here.”
“Wait!” She reached for the hem of my shirt, balling it. “Don’t you want to hear my offer?”
“For sex and half a mill?” I arched an eyebrow. “It’s either a pyramid scheme or a job. I’m not interested in either.”
“As I said, you’re a skeptic, and I’m about to change that.” She smoothed a hand over my torso. “Sit down.”
I did, but only because the thought of going back to Hallie’s place and watching her ignore me was strangely unbearable.
“You have three minutes,” I announced.
“I don’t think so. Finish your drink and get another one. I want us to be on an even field when we have this conversation.” She gestured with her chin to my Jameson.
“You’re not in a position to negotiate,” I reminded her.
“Sure I am.” She raised my glass, putting it to my lips. “I offer money, sex, and power. The most sought-after things in the universe. Now, bottoms up.”
Taking another sip, I studied her again. She was good-looking, in an obvious L.A. way. Inflated breasts, lips, and not a wrinkle to be found. She’d probably be good in bed. Women of her range had read all the books and owned the award-winning sex toys.